And, like a torrent of dirty water from a vessel full of refuse, her rage poured out in a tumultuous fashion into Frederick’s ear the recital of her rival’s disgraceful acts.
“She lived with Jumillac, with Flacourt, with little Allard, with Bertinaux, with Saint-Valéry, the pock-marked fellow! No, ‘twas the other! They are two brothers—it makes no difference. And when she was in difficulties, I settled everything. She is so avaricious! And then, you will agree with me, ‘twas nice and kind of me to go to see her, for we are not persons of the same grade! Am I a fast woman—I? Do I sell myself? Without taking into account that she is as stupid as a head of cabbage. She writes ‘category’ with a ‘th.’ After all, they are well met. They make a precious couple, though he styles himself an artist
